Can You Recall?
by EmpressHimiko
Summary: Japan looks back and sees a path of grief, China continued forward. Yao is sent to Kiku's house after a worried call from Meimei. - "Yao-" His eyes were feverish, untamed with passion. It was almost pathetic the way he smiled up at him and caressed the air. "Yao, what brings you here?" he asked giddily, the wide smile on his face looked like it would be painful to hold.
Fandom: Hetalia

Title: Can You Recall?

Pairing/Characters: Past/Possibly-Present [haven't really decided] China/Japan

Summary: [ _This is an excerpt from a story that I intend to be larger, but as of right now it is a scattered collection of scenes._ ] Japan looks back and sees a path of grief, China continued forward.

Length: This part is about 2,200 words

Rating: General/K

As always, I love comments/likes/reblogs! It's been a long while since I've written and I'm pretty busy with uni right now, but I'd love to add to these things when I have time! 3 Thank you for reading!

"Mm?" China hummed on the phone, he was distracted making dumplings and was only half listening to his little sister on the phone.

He heard some garbled grumbling, then "Yao, I said we need to go visit-" he heard some vague slamming and then some shouting; he kept balling the dough into neat rows. When he finished the tray he was about to put the infernal phone down; when he heard her voice again, a touch breathless, "I'm sorry, Yao," she said softly, "I'm just worried about him."

"Who?" he washed his hands in the sink, the water was cold but he rinsed anyway.

He heard a pause, "Kiku," and he tensed for a moment, even if he just heard the name on the phone. Her voice was terribly worried, "I would go, but Im Yong needs some help with work," Yao sat down, holding the phone gently, "Kiku hasn't answered his phone, and even Jones hasn't spoken to him," he heard a small racket and Im Yong's voice arguing with her, it seemed as if Korea was being semi-responsible from what he heard in their bickering.

Yao was shocked Kiku wasn't answering his phone; Japan was notorious for showing up to meetings, even with fevers and chills, without a hair out of place.

"Mei," Yao trailed off for a moment when he heard her presence back on the line, "Mei, I don't think I could-"

She interrupted him, "Yao," her voice was between pleading and demanding, "Yao, he won't come out for anyone, I don't know-"

" _Daze~_ " Im Yong's voice was irate, "Don't help the idiot, Honda deserves-" Yao sighed and rubbed his forehead, he couldn't talk to Kiku, he couldn't.

He heard a smack, "Yao, Kiku needs you, what if-"

"What if what?" Im Yong again. "What if he plans to kill us like Yao-" The phone was obviously dropped on the floor and Yao couldn't help but wonder how the two ever got along.

When Meimei made it on the phone, her voice was rushed, "Yao, someone needs to see if Kiku is okay, I'm so worried. Please, just check on him, you don't even need to talk to him if you don't want to." With that, he heard more shouting and the line went dead.

He put his phone down and stared at it for a minute, visit Kiku? He knew where the house was, keenly; the path that had become overgrown from disuse still lingered in the bamboo forest, and he was sure he could step out and follow it straight to his door. Meimei made sure a set of everyone's keys was hidden in a kitchen drawer, Kiku had probably given her the spare set without a second thought.

He missed Kiku, he hadn't thought about it for a long time, but he missed their time together; times spent teaching and learning together, gentle love, and such beautiful-

No, he wouldn't think about it. Time had swept it away; he couldn't go back to it. Though he knew the end of it was his fault, he could not help but think there would never be reconciliation between the two; their relationship now was friendly but cool, they weren't aggressive or cold to the other but there was no effort in making it anything like it was in ancient times. Sometimes Yao would be familiar with him, but Kiku would only shake his head.

Kiku had been both a friend and enemy, but in his mind he would always be his most cherished child and later lover, the perfect companion. Though many others had entered his bed for love and for friendship, Kiku was the one he thought of at night and the one he wanted in his home. Sometimes, when he dared to look at him, he thought of how he missed the smile the other would sometimes carry with him and wondered if any other had brought the smile out. Centuries passed and he never saw Kiku publicly smile the same way.

But that was not the subject at hand.

Yao looked out the window, there was enough time to go to Kiku's today: though he loathed the idea, he knew Mei was right. Something must be wrong.

He packed a basket with some herbs, tea, and a few plates of food Kiku liked, but who knew how his taste changed? And left his house. He had left his home many times, more times then he could count, but when he stood at the gate, he was overwhelmed with the urge to look back upon the house. The estate hadn't changed much. Ever. There were trees that grew rhythmically through the garden, the house itself changed only mildly in ornamentation, and with a small, dropping, sense of loss he realized he had picked away Kiku's mark from the house. In the curve of his gate he saw Taiwan, and in the flowers bloomed Korea, even Vietnam had her mark through the murals painted on his home, and he glimpsed Mongolia in the statues on his roof.

But Kiku was gone. With an ancient ache, Yao suddenly missed the things they planted together- things he had ripped away in bitter sadness- and the things they had designed- art he had cast away in grief.

Regardless, Yao turned away from the house and began walking. The dense woods were a comfort; their thick stalks of bamboo were a green glow about him. When he made it to Kiku's house, he looked at it carefully. He had only been there rarely, their last era together was mostly in Yao's estate; when he saw the house he saw a home like Kiku, the home modeled on his own but modified for the quiet man's needs. He stepped though the threshold of the estate, his soft shoes shuffling delicately on the path.

He had to hesitate, had to wait to see if maybe he didn't have to go inside, but he knocked three times on the door.

" _Aiya_! It's family!" he called through the thick door, he didn't hear stirrings behind it. He knocked again and, when it stood impassively, he pulled out the key he had from Mei and opened the lock.

The thick door was heavy and took a small show of strength to open, and Yao was careful to close it without noise. He grasped his basket carefully and looked down the main corridor of the house; now it was only lit by the sunlight that gleamed on the wooden floors where it shone from the high rafters. The sliding doors all connected to one another, and Yao again called out.

"Japan?" he inquired, his voice strong, "Where are you?" He stepped further into the house, the air was stale and slightly humid. When he still heard no response he vaguely recalled that Japan lived in a room on the eastern side of his home and with that Yao began to open the doors to slits. With each door he opened, he felt a stuttering in his breath, and when he finally reached the last eastern door, he steeled himself.

Yao closed his eyes, opened them, and slipped his hand onto the edge of the door. The wood was warmer than the others, the slats painted a warm black, and he pushed the door open.

He had expected to see Kiku lounging on a futon, or perhaps to see the room empty, he had not expected the disarray that met him. A futon was angled out of the spot on the floor painted for it to occupy, and it was pulled slightly closer to a table where a small pot bubbled above warm ashes. Otherwise clean sheets were haphazardly arranged on the pallet so that some of them splayed to the floor and other ones bunched up on the futon, a small tray by the door boasted many cups of cold tea and bowls of water, the windows were shut tightly on the northern wall and the eastern wall had windows slightly open near the ceiling.

The warm scent of medicinal herbs washed over him and he thought the room was empty. But when he took a second look, he saw some of the blankets were bunched around a thin form in the bed, fully pulled up so only the very front of his bangs showed from his angle. Kiku was hunched over but still and silent, apparently looking into the urn.

"Japan?" he questioned, perhaps he was asleep. He stepped closer, and still Kiku didn't move. "Japan?" he repeated, louder this time, and he fully stepped into his field of vision. Kiku was flushed and sweating, oddly still and not trembling, but then his eyes looked at Yao.

"Yao-" His eyes were feverish, untamed with passion. "Yao!" They looked at him blindly, he wasn't sure if Kiku saw him or not, Kiku's hand feebly grasped at the hem of Yao's pants. It was almost pathetic the way he smiled up at him and caressed the air. "Yao, what brings you here?" he asked giddily, the wide smile on his face looked like it would be painful to hold.

Yao almost recoiled, Kiku's hand dropped and his eyes still maintained strict contact, thought it seemed they were unaware. He looked more intently at Kiku and saw a thread of blood tracing the edge of his face, but he couldn't fully determine where it came from. Yao placed the basket down beside the bed and noticed that when he had turned away Kiku had begun to sag. "Yao?"

"Mm, Kiku?" Yao knelt in front of him on the bed, he gently placed his hand on his forehead and felt a blazing fever. If Kiku was this sick, then-

Kiku leaned into his hand, his wide smile returning full force. He nuzzled Yao's hand like a cat.

"Where have you been, Yao? I missed you so much." Kiku slurred his words a little, and Yao felt a dropping sense of worry begin to grow as he peeled back the covers Kiku had swathed himself in. The smell of illness began to grow in the room.

"I'm never here, Honda," he snapped, Why had Kiku let himself get so sick? Why hadn't he asked for help-? He stood and began to fold the excess blankets, he was so worried.

"Oh," Kiku's face fell, and some of his energy seemed to drain away when Yao's hand was gone, "Of course, I forget," his voice sounded more like him now but still off, too reedy, too careworn, too shocking. Yao laid the folded blankets near the door, and knelt to help Kiku lay down. "Yao?"

"Yes, Honda?" he muttered, gently pulling his legs out and arranging them in the bed. Kiku gently patted at Yao's knees while Yao worked to lay him flat on the bed.

"Why are we always at your house? I had almost forgotten how much I love my own house."

"We aren't, Honda, we never are-" It suddenly dawned on him why Kiku was asking such questions.

 _-Kiku._

 _Oh, Kiku._

His fevered eyes still looked at him hazily, before he slowly blinked and wrapped his slender fingers around Yao's wrist.

"Lie with me a bit?" he questioned softly, his dazed eyes warm with affection, his fingers tightly clasped around his wrist.

Yao simply sat where he was kneeling for a moment, weighing Kiku's eyes which were trapped in memory: eyes that looked at him with soft warmth and thick with exhaustion and illness. At that point, Kiku fell asleep, and Yao slipped in next to him. His hand tightly wrapped around his wrist. After a short while, he too fell asleep.

* * *

He awoke to some muttering, he panicked for a long moment until the soft smell of Kiku registered with him. He hadn't intended on staying this long at all, but the heat rolling over him from Kiku told him that the other was still grievously ill and not to be left alone.

"Hnnn?" Yao looked at him splayed out on the edge of the bed, Kiku's hand still tightly wrapped around his wrist.

"Your eyes! They're so beautiful! Yao- oh, you're here, you're here! Are you going to stay this time? Your eyes! So expressive, a beautiful color, I would have them set into the heavens!" Kiku was quiet for a while, murmuring some nonsensical sounds. The bedroom was fully dark now; night had fallen while Yao napped with Kiku.

In the dim moonlight that gleamed in, Yao saw Kiku's face turn to look at him. His eyes splayed wide-

Gods, it still didn't look like Kiku- too frantic, too frightening, too wide-

His eyes trapped in memory, the expression was not one Kiku wore anymore. Vulnerability and grief shone through his face, and he pulled himself closer to Yao.

"I can't even get away from you when I sleep," he murmured into Yao's chest, Yao kept his lips shut. He didn't want to do anything to make Kiku upset, but at the same time he-

Kiku buried his face into Yao's chest, "I always see you, even when you're not here. Why do you keep haunting me? I miss you so much. I can't tell you I love you, you'll never look at me again. _You'll never look at me again!_ "

At those words, Yao stiffened while Kiku hiccuped and cried a little into his shirt.

 **As always, please review! As or right now, this story is what it is. If people show an interest in this, I am much more likely to write more!**

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